


In Council

by epkitty



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Established Relationship, Love Notes, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-02
Updated: 2011-03-02
Packaged: 2017-10-16 01:47:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/167106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epkitty/pseuds/epkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They should be working, but it's more fun to pass notes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Council

“Glorfindel?” Elrond asked, trying not to sound as bored as he felt, “you said you’d an important report from your scouts?”

“Indeed, sire. There’s a pair of beavers newly migrated to the Bruinen, about two miles north. They’re working on a rather large dam, and the implications are ill for those who depend on the regularity of the river.”

Elrond nodded, thoughtful. “I’ll send one of the biologists up to investigate. Though it seems likely we’ll have to move them elsewhere.”

“Aye sir.”

Throughout this exchange, Erestor was sitting ramrod straight, scribbling on a sheet of paper, seemingly with no attention to the council at hand.

Elrond frowned at his Chief Counselor. “What say you, Erestor?”

Erestor glanced up. “Investigation is our most appropriate avenue, based upon what little we currently know, though it does seem likely that evacuation of the beavers will be necessary.”

Elrond sighed. “Yes, thank you, Erestor. Anything else, Glorfindel?”

“Only of routine nature; nothing worth noting.”

“Very well,” Elrond said. “Melpomaen, what have you to tell us?”

Melpomaen began his droning dissertation on the expected arrival, come spring, of ambassadors, dignitaries, and other political visitors, and their dates and reasons.

Glorfindel turned his attention to Erestor, who was reengaged with his writing. He could not have appeared more out of tune with the rest of the world, concentrating so intently as he was on his quill. Melpomaen was still droning when Erestor finished and slowly waved at the paper to dry the ink. He folded the parchment and scribbled something on the outside of it.

Erestor then returned his attention to the conference, his dark eyes piercing further than any normal gaze. After the address had dried, he passed the paper to the right, and it was swiftly passed from hand to hand about the table until it reached Glorfindel, to whom it was directed.

Making sure that all attention was elsewhere, Glorfindel unfolded the letter and read, making of his face a mask of irritated boredom.

“There is nothing I should rather do  
Than sit and write this note to you,  
Forgo my duties and all work,  
Shuffle my papers off on my clerk,  
And give up all my riches, too.

I’ll sit all day composing odes,  
Transcribe them into lovers’ codes,  
Deliver them at dark midnight,  
Tremble at your very sight,  
Then flee before my heart implodes.

I’ll forget to eat, forget to sleep,  
Give up wine, in vain count sheep;  
I’ll neglect all these essential chores,  
Finding my breath of life in yours  
And by your bedroom nightly creep.

Every moment I would thus employ,  
Each of my arts swiftly deploy,  
If not for my noble station;  
If not for our stately yet humble nation,  
I swear I’d give in to everlasting joy.”

Glorfindel folded the note away and slid it up his sleeve, drawing forth a blank sheet of paper from his folder. He licked the tip of his quill, and dipped into the open pot of ink on the table, ignoring Elrond, who sat directly beside him, drilling Melpomaen on some subject or another.

Glorfindel heard various voices throughout the room, calm and nearly as uninterested as they undoubtedly felt.

“Glorfindel, what do you think?”

Looking up from his note, Glorfindel addressed Elrond no differently than if he’d a clue what was under discussion. “I agree with Erestor,” he said curtly, guessing that this answer was acceptable when no one else questioned it.

Elrond frowned at him and moved on to their Chief Minstrel. “Lindir, there was a subject you wished to address to the Council?”

“Indeed, milord.”

Glorfindel finished off his note, taking considerably more time than Erestor had, and went through the ritual of folding, addressing, and letting it dry.

He then passed it the way his own letter had come, until it came to rest in Erestor’s hands.

The Counselor idly opened and glanced at it.

“Till Valinor then, my loyal love,  
You’ll have to wait for this hawk  
With that sweet patience of a dove  
Until you can, with sighing breath,  
Enjoy your indulgent, nightly walk.

Till all is done on Middle Earth  
And we sail the Sundering Sea  
To return to the land of our birth:  
Only when these duties are done  
Will you be free to worship me.

And till that distant, fateful day  
Your sweet poems will suffice,  
And we each shall walk in our own way  
Remembering a parchment’s words  
And heaving out our partnered sighs.

So keep up each sonnet and each song:  
I’ll keep them tucked up in my sleeve  
Close to me, where they (and you) belong;  
Trust in this and in me, my love,  
For in this fate I truly believe.”

Elrond frowned again. “Erestor, is that acceptable?”

Erestor put down the letter and regarded the minstrel. “Lindir best knows the arrangements for Bonfire Night. If he thinks the lyric contest fits in the schedule, I have no reason to disagree. T’will add a degree of friendly competition that will not be unwelcome, I daresay.” And he returned to reading the letter.

Elrond glared his most severe glower at his Chief Counselor and returned his attention to Lindir, who was pressing his case on his partner, who disagreed with the arrangement. Elrond took out a scrap of paper, jotted a message, and passed it beside him to Glorfindel, who read.

“If you don’t cease flirting in the middle of meetings,  
I will resort to giving you beatings.  
–Elrond”

Glorfindel frowned and wrote a one-word response.

“Kinky.  
-G”

= = = = =

The End


End file.
